by: Fortune Whelan
Series: Dorseys of Conception
Genre: Contemporary Christmas Romance
Release Date: October 13, 2022
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Christmas is a time for family and forgiveness…
Mabel Gray is no stranger to rebuilding her life. She ran away from her childhood sweetheart, ghosting him to create a life away from her controlling family in Conception Bay. Fifteen years later, she’s done it again. After walking away from her marriage and the hotel empire she built with her ex, she’s broke and a single mom to a teen. But with a loan from her mother, she plans to rise again, this time back in her hometown. Her only concern? Running into Danny, the man she’s never forgotten.
Danny Dorsey knows all about second chances. After recklessly crashing his car days after signing a professional hockey contract, he lost everything—including the girl he loved. Years later, he’s the wealthy creator of an illustrious social media and lifestyle brand. Finally feeling settled, Danny makes an unexpected detour to visit his family for Christmas…only to find himself sitting with Mabel at dinner.
Falling in love has always been easy. But will the secrets of the past once again tear them apart?
Age: 33
Date of birth: August 30 [Virgo]
Physical Description: Average height, dark brown eyes (warm), ash brown hair (cool)
Occupation: Serial Entrepreneur
3 likes in no particular order: Morning coffee, the sound of rain, watching my favorite movies over again. Comfort things.
3 dislikes in no particular order: Being late or being rushed, loud noises, Madonna.
Drink of choice: Negroni
Favorite food: Tagliatelle (because it’s fun to say)
Favorite song: Afterglow by Ed Sheeran
Choice of transportation: Walking
Favorite way to spend an evening: Curled up on the couch catching up on Netflix.
Favorite holiday tradition: Stuffing stockings. I love seeing everyone so happy on Christmas morning with what Santa brought them.
Best memory to date: Emma’s first Christmas.
If you could have a do-over, what would you do differently? I should have ended my marriage much sooner.
What’s something you’ve said you would never do, but in fact have done? Edibles! By accident. But still.
Most romantic gesture (done or received): When I turned 14 and Danny and his hockey team surprised me with a flash mob happy birthday dance.
Words to live by: Still, I rise. (Maya Angelou)
“Are you ready?”
Was anyone ever ready to sign divorce papers? Mabel Gray definitely was and good fucking riddance. Her soon-to-be-ex-husband Piers was an asshole, a liar, a cheat, and exceedingly more patient than she, willing to allow negotiations to drag on for months and years if she’d let him. If he couldn’t have everything, then he’d bleed their accounts dry with lawyer fees. That kind of asshole.
“They’re waiting outside, Mabel. It’s time to go.”
She inhaled, clenching her jaw as she stood from the sofa and swept her gaze across the sitting room. She’d designed the house, worked with the contractors, chosen the décor, hosted dinners and parties, raised their daughter. Piers believed holding out for the house would hurt and maim her in inconsolable ways, but he’d never really known her.
The antique Persian rugs, the Granville Redmond on the wall, the redesigned mid-century furniture, the house. They were all things. Expensive things, but they could be replaced. With her decade-long working relationship with San Francisco’s auction houses, they could be replaced and recreated easily. Things were easy to walk away from. People were harder. But she’d been able to do that too. As much as it ripped out her heart, she’d done it before, and she could do it again to save herself.
“I’m ready,” she said, finally. “Let’s do this. And thanks for being here, Antony.” He wasn’t just here as an attorney; he was a family friend. Mabel didn’t have many of those. She convinced herself she was too busy—and introverted—but she hated confiding vulnerability to anyone. Her mother and grandmother taught her to be strong. Unfortunately, strong, she found out, also meant lonely.
“Of course, I wouldn’t let you walk out of here alone. Not like this—I tried—”
“This was my choice. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. He can have everything if it means I can have my life back.”
“Yes, but the exchange, the signatures, the transfer of property, this could have happened in our offices. And there’s absolutely no need to parade you in front of the neighbors like this. It’s shameful.”
No, it was humiliating. Tragic, maybe. That’s how their neighbors would remember her and whisper her story until she was a myth, larger than life. Piers would loathe that. But she knew how to push his buttons too, since he always had to get in the last word. Mabel smirked at the buxom Frasier fir tree dominating the landing between the twin staircases and inhaled its pungent aroma. It smelled like dignity and victory and freedom. Piers hated all things Christmas because he was a hateful person. The reel in her head ran with images of Piers trying to rid himself of the tree, his arms wound around its thick, bushy trunk, the branches scratching at his face, the mess of needles scattering to the floor as he waddled it toward the double front doors. It wouldn’t fit easily; she’d made sure of that. He’d have to drag it outside kicking and cussing. No, the neighbors wouldn’t remember her humiliation today; they’d remember his. It made walking out on her old life that much easier. Piers would scream as soon as he walked into his house and saw the tree, and she’d relish every second of his agony, like he’d done to her for years.
“Do you have a purse? Suitcases?” Antony asked.
“In the car. I’m ready.” Truthfully, she’d been ready since the first time Piers dared to raise a hand to her. She wasn’t a punching bag but felt compelled to make sure for herself and for her daughter that she did everything to save the family so that there would be no doubt that when she did walk away, it was for good and for the right reasons.
Mabel led Antony past the prickly fir which she brushed with her fingers with a silent thank you, you’re the best, through the kitchen with its gleaming twenty-foot island covered in Christmas desserts, and out through the door leading to the garage. It was a scene out of The Sopranos: folded card table, Piers seated askew with his hands clasped between his thighs. Flanking him were his attorney and his girlfriend, sweet girl by the way.
Mabel’s heels clicked but didn’t echo. Antony pulled the metallic chair back for her to sit and Piers’s attorney retrieved the paperwork from his leather briefcase.
Two police officers stood beyond the dividing line between garage cement and driveway concrete, charged with keeping the peace and nosy, gawking neighbors off their lawn.
Luckily, all the places requiring her signature were flagged with blue sticky tabs. The ceremony was over quickly. A few pen scratches, the tap-tap-tap of the bundle of papers on the table, and she’d signed over everything she’d built and worked for to Piers. He reaped the rewards for the last fifteen years of her labor. But she got to walk away with her dignity and the rest of her life to live, knowing she could always build another business and make more money. Piers would not. He’d blow through all the money left in their accounts in five years if she was being generous with her projections.
She stood first, eyeing her getaway car with her mind’s eye. “Is that all?”
Both lawyers nodded, and Piers’s grin grew to Joker-like proportions. “I’m sorry our marriage didn’t work out,” he sneered.
Total bullshit. He was a horrible liar. “Yeah, me too.” Because she’d actually tried and loved him once. And for all his dickish qualities, he gave her a miracle daughter.
He didn’t have to, but Antony opened the door of her black Audi S8, a ’99, the first and only car Mabel ever owned. The only reason Piers didn’t want it was because it was old, outdated, and ugly “like her” he spat on more than one occasion.
Mabel started the engine and backed out of the garage slowly, waiting for her neighbors to scatter. She idled at the curb as Piers took his victory stroll into his house. It didn’t take thirty seconds for the front door to disappear with Piers yelling insults and obscenities about the tree and the holiday season.
Mabel quoted her favorite line from Home Alone, pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, gunned the engine, and drove.
Was anyone ever ready to sign divorce papers? Mabel Gray definitely was and good fucking riddance. Her soon-to-be-ex-husband Piers was an asshole, a liar, a cheat, and exceedingly more patient than she, willing to allow negotiations to drag on for months and years if she’d let him. If he couldn’t have everything, then he’d bleed their accounts dry with lawyer fees. That kind of asshole.
“They’re waiting outside, Mabel. It’s time to go.”
She inhaled, clenching her jaw as she stood from the sofa and swept her gaze across the sitting room. She’d designed the house, worked with the contractors, chosen the décor, hosted dinners and parties, raised their daughter. Piers believed holding out for the house would hurt and maim her in inconsolable ways, but he’d never really known her.
The antique Persian rugs, the Granville Redmond on the wall, the redesigned mid-century furniture, the house. They were all things. Expensive things, but they could be replaced. With her decade-long working relationship with San Francisco’s auction houses, they could be replaced and recreated easily. Things were easy to walk away from. People were harder. But she’d been able to do that too. As much as it ripped out her heart, she’d done it before, and she could do it again to save herself.
“I’m ready,” she said, finally. “Let’s do this. And thanks for being here, Antony.” He wasn’t just here as an attorney; he was a family friend. Mabel didn’t have many of those. She convinced herself she was too busy—and introverted—but she hated confiding vulnerability to anyone. Her mother and grandmother taught her to be strong. Unfortunately, strong, she found out, also meant lonely.
“Of course, I wouldn’t let you walk out of here alone. Not like this—I tried—”
“This was my choice. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. He can have everything if it means I can have my life back.”
“Yes, but the exchange, the signatures, the transfer of property, this could have happened in our offices. And there’s absolutely no need to parade you in front of the neighbors like this. It’s shameful.”
No, it was humiliating. Tragic, maybe. That’s how their neighbors would remember her and whisper her story until she was a myth, larger than life. Piers would loathe that. But she knew how to push his buttons too, since he always had to get in the last word. Mabel smirked at the buxom Frasier fir tree dominating the landing between the twin staircases and inhaled its pungent aroma. It smelled like dignity and victory and freedom. Piers hated all things Christmas because he was a hateful person. The reel in her head ran with images of Piers trying to rid himself of the tree, his arms wound around its thick, bushy trunk, the branches scratching at his face, the mess of needles scattering to the floor as he waddled it toward the double front doors. It wouldn’t fit easily; she’d made sure of that. He’d have to drag it outside kicking and cussing. No, the neighbors wouldn’t remember her humiliation today; they’d remember his. It made walking out on her old life that much easier. Piers would scream as soon as he walked into his house and saw the tree, and she’d relish every second of his agony, like he’d done to her for years.
“Do you have a purse? Suitcases?” Antony asked.
“In the car. I’m ready.” Truthfully, she’d been ready since the first time Piers dared to raise a hand to her. She wasn’t a punching bag but felt compelled to make sure for herself and for her daughter that she did everything to save the family so that there would be no doubt that when she did walk away, it was for good and for the right reasons.
Mabel led Antony past the prickly fir which she brushed with her fingers with a silent thank you, you’re the best, through the kitchen with its gleaming twenty-foot island covered in Christmas desserts, and out through the door leading to the garage. It was a scene out of The Sopranos: folded card table, Piers seated askew with his hands clasped between his thighs. Flanking him were his attorney and his girlfriend, sweet girl by the way.
Mabel’s heels clicked but didn’t echo. Antony pulled the metallic chair back for her to sit and Piers’s attorney retrieved the paperwork from his leather briefcase.
Two police officers stood beyond the dividing line between garage cement and driveway concrete, charged with keeping the peace and nosy, gawking neighbors off their lawn.
Luckily, all the places requiring her signature were flagged with blue sticky tabs. The ceremony was over quickly. A few pen scratches, the tap-tap-tap of the bundle of papers on the table, and she’d signed over everything she’d built and worked for to Piers. He reaped the rewards for the last fifteen years of her labor. But she got to walk away with her dignity and the rest of her life to live, knowing she could always build another business and make more money. Piers would not. He’d blow through all the money left in their accounts in five years if she was being generous with her projections.
She stood first, eyeing her getaway car with her mind’s eye. “Is that all?”
Both lawyers nodded, and Piers’s grin grew to Joker-like proportions. “I’m sorry our marriage didn’t work out,” he sneered.
Total bullshit. He was a horrible liar. “Yeah, me too.” Because she’d actually tried and loved him once. And for all his dickish qualities, he gave her a miracle daughter.
He didn’t have to, but Antony opened the door of her black Audi S8, a ’99, the first and only car Mabel ever owned. The only reason Piers didn’t want it was because it was old, outdated, and ugly “like her” he spat on more than one occasion.
Mabel started the engine and backed out of the garage slowly, waiting for her neighbors to scatter. She idled at the curb as Piers took his victory stroll into his house. It didn’t take thirty seconds for the front door to disappear with Piers yelling insults and obscenities about the tree and the holiday season.
Mabel quoted her favorite line from Home Alone, pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, gunned the engine, and drove.
Purchase My Christmas with You from:
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The Dorseys of Conception Series:
Fortune stories are “charming, silly and emotionally fraught” with “fast-paced plot[s] that keep pages flying”. When she’s not at her standing desk fending off feline invaders, you can find her on her yoga mat, or shelving books at the local library.
Places to find Fortune Whelan:
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My childhood celebrity crush was Kirk Cameron.
ReplyDeleteI like Mabel already. I still need to read this book.
ReplyDeleteLove Mabel's profile, My Christmas With You sounds like a great holiday book! My childhood crush was on Sean Cassidy from the Hardy Boys! Have a magical holiday season!
ReplyDeleteChristmas and second chances, I need to read it! My Childhood crush was Johnny Depp.
ReplyDeleteShaun Cassidy
ReplyDeletedenise
Parker Stevenson
ReplyDeletePaul Walker! R.I.P. I’ve rewatched fast & furious a million times!
ReplyDeleteThe boy next door, seriously!
ReplyDeleteDavid Cassidy aka Keith Partridge (R.I.P.) was my first childhood crush
ReplyDeleteCorey Hart. an old singer.
ReplyDeleteSean Astin in his '80s movies, especially Goonies.
ReplyDeleteMy childhood crush was Elvis Presley.
ReplyDelete